A Burned Heart
by WendellB
Summary: Two holidays and a few solved crimes later, Sherlock and John are back at 221b where Sherlock is given the chance to revive a cold case he has been itching to return to. (this summary and the title are both under work, might change them to something more suitable later on. Modern take on one of my favorite Sir A.C. Doyle's stories. )
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**Hi! This is my first fanfic, and every start is slow, but I'm hoping this will turn out okay in the end. I hope you enjoy, and if you don't, I'm glad you took a chance!**

**Also, it would be nice if you review this, to tell me what I could improve on, no hate please, we can all be constructive and civil. Thank you!**

-Chapter One-

-Flu, Tea and Wounds-

A draft is blowing the curtains inside the room, one of the windows has been smashed. Women in rose coloured silk dresses have gathered at the doorway, too frightened to enter the dishevelled room and approach the woman sitting at the vanity mirror. The woman's hands are bleeding from having hit the mirror several times, shards now covering her red stained dress. The white silk and lace contrasting her dark hair and eyes, quiet sobs the only accompaniment of the wind now blowing through the broken window.

* * *

John's old army friend, Colonel Hayter, had set house near Reigate in Surrey. He was one of the few people John had kept in touch with after his service in Afghanistan, and Hayter had sent him an open invitation to come visit the estate after the two had returned to England.

A week ago John had though it the perfect time to take up on that old offer, John wanted to see Hayter and Sherlock needed to be taken far away from any potential clients, or people in general. Sherlock had been sick with flu for six days too long to try anyone's patience or be of any real use. Sherlock, who usually pushed on despite any injury or starvation at times, had this time met a sort of match.

About two weeks ago they had flown to Finland for a case, well, Sherlock had flown in for a case, John had come along thinking they'd get to go skiing and see reindeers. There Sherlock and John had fallen in through the icy lake chasing after a con-artist who had embezzled from large corporations worldwide. The police had caught the woman who had no where else to run, being that the way back was now sporting a large hole with two freezing Englishmen. They hadn't shown any signs of illness recovering from the ordeal in the warm saunas, but when they had returned home to Bakerstreet, Sherlock had gone down with fever. Sherlock wouldn't listen to John's protests about taking new cases, until he had nearly fallen down the stairs from his legs giving out from muscle fatigue, twice. Also his deductions were less sensible than usual when half way through he'd cough, sneeze on the clients and slur from peeks of temperature.

Finally, after some mild violence in the form oh John tying Sherlock to bed, covering him with blankets and hot compresses and yelling medical advice at the man, John had persuaded Sherlock to take rest and get away from London for a while to go to Hayter's. John had also asked Mrs. Hudson to join them.

Mrs. Hudson was so pleased with the idea of all of them, particularly Sherlock, taking some time off from all the crime and grime, she packed all their things for them in the night, knowing that Sherlock would keep up the protests up until they were actually at their destination. To both of their surprise, Sherlock was quite willing to go in the end, and in his groggy sleep had asked Mrs. Hudson, who had been as quietly as possible ransacking his cupboard for some warm socks, if she had remembered to pack his carryon kit of lab tools, to study the insects.

The train trip there was a hassle, Mrs. Hudson was able to hold Sherlock's attention for a while discussing the benefits of honey for a sore throat. John went to buy some honey packets from the restaurant carriage to escape Sherlock deducing out loud the personal histories of their fellow passengers, John wasn't sure if Sherlock forgot he was speaking out loud because of the fever or did this on purpose. He bet the latter. When John returned, the train security staff was settling fights between a couple, where the girlfriend had been told by a runny nose crazy man the obvious signs of her boyfriend's infidelity, another couple was arguing because of the wife's gambling problem and two little boys were being reprimanded by their mother for having eaten their snacks without permission. Amidst the chaos Mrs. Hudson was hiding behind a newspaper and Sherlock had finally fallen asleep, or passed out of the fatigue. He didn't have a bloody nose so thankfully no one had punched him out.

When they had arrived at Colonel Hayter's, their little vacation started off with Sherlock accepting he was there, Mrs. Hudson relaxing after the entertainment Sherlock had created for them and John and Hayter acting like long lost brothers.

Mrs. Hudson enjoyed the spring awakening of the surrounding nature, John and Hayter talked about old and new times, Sherlock eyeing the local bee farms furtively. When he was told to take it easy and just try to limit his actions to being, this suggestion was promptly replied to with comments of simply being is boring, John was boring, they were all boring and John replying that Sherlock was being boring by being bored. That shut him up for a while.

Apart from the broody man-child, the first couple of days passed in relaxation, and Sherlock's health improved in the fresh air and nature even if his mood seemed to worsen.

But on the third day of their stay, the Colonel had a visitor, informing them that there had been a burglary at the nearby Acton estate. There was nothing much to be done when Sherlock heard of this and rushed off to meet the Actons. After a few days rest, John and Mrs. Hudson were almost pleased when seeing Sherlock so energized, but mostly annoyed that their "normal" vacation time had run so short. Mrs. Hudson opted to leave home for Bakerstreet, to tidy the place up for when the boys had solved their case and come home. John was hoping she'd planned on taking this opportunity of clearing the kitchen from Sherlock's experiments.

Sherlock was too busy to notice Mrs. Hudson go off on her obvious mission to destroy all his experiments, because soon there was news that even the neighbouring estate of Cunningham had had their own run in with the thieves. This time there had been an effort to stop the thieves, which had ended badly for the Cunningham's chauffer, William Kirwan. Kirwan's body had been found near the house. Sherlock quickly pieced together the legal disputes between the Acton's and father and son Cunningham's about land ownership, how the stealing of meaningless small items at Acton's had been a diversion of the smaller yet more significant crime, and that he had now in his sights the villains by the time the local inspector Forrester had been called to the scene.

Inspecting the Cunningham's house under the ruse of finding further evidence, Sherlock, left alone with Cunningham senior and junior, confronted them and the two men saw as their one way out of jail of taking Sherlock out.

John had gone looking for Sherlock and found him held down by the two men.

The moment of horror had felt like hours for them, of Sherlock losing more than a victory in a case, of John losing his best friend, when John grabbed the assailant and pulled him off of the detective, inspector Forrester following suit and apprehending Cunningham senior. Junior had been holding the gun at Sherlock's face, and fired it, the bullet just scraping his face when John had pulled him away.

John had saved his lectures for when they had got home to Bakerstreet, he had been too worried about Sherlock's health at the time being, seeing he wasn't still fully recovered from his illness, he had trouble speaking from having been strangled, and was burnt and bleeding from his cheek. Now, back in Bakerstreet, to where John had for a second feared he would have to return to alone, the anger at his best friend's recklessness was starting to flood back, along with all the other times Sherlock had nearly gotten sent to the pearly gates.

"There was no danger whatsoever, John, honestly, you're turning into Mycroft!"

Sherlock whipped away all of John's protest, settled in his chair after bouncing through the room and having wriggled away from Mrs. Hudson's demands to know where on earth those dressings on Sherlock's face came from.

"Well, Mycroft would then have a very good point in this case!" John kept up, his frustration and anger rising.

"You do not corner the bad guys alone!"

"I was doing fine."

"No. You got shot, in the face!" John mimed framing his own face, pausing between the words, he felt it necessary since his flatmate seemed oblivious to the wounds he had sustained.

"Correction, almost. My face is quite intact."

Oh no you don't you arrogant sod.  
"Correction, you DID get shot in the face, the bullet just didn't take the whole damn smug thing off."  
John gave an involuntary shiver at the memory. What if Sherlock had gotten killed? They were always getting mauled, shot at, and Mrs. Hudson had gotten used to them turning up with broken bones. John had gotten used to Sherlock's recklessness, but this time had been so close, so miraculously well timed.

Sherlock made to retort and wave away such minuscule concerns, but he saw the face John was making.  
The anger on John's features had turned to a mixture of fatigue, worry and loss.

Sherlock felt at a loss himself in moments like this, he was sorry to have made John worry.

It was easier to deal with anger, to simply wave it off. He always felt awkward and speechless when anyone showed just how much they cared for him, and he wasn't always sure how to show it back. He had never gotten used to caring for his own safety, never mind someone else worrying about him. Mrs. Hudson, John, even Lestrade and his brother always put on brave faces when Sherlock would turn up with less blood in his system or a few broken bones.

Why did John have to look so sad this time.

Don't look so sad, John.

Sherlock put down the violin he was fiddling and was making an effort of composing his own face. John snapped back from his own reverie, when the detective said quietly

"I will take better care next time."

John still felt mad, but, he couldn't help but smile slightly. Sherlock looked so earnest, like a small child who had gone too far from the safety of the home street with his bike, been caught and reprimanded about taking his rides too far and only now understood that a car can hit you and it would hurt him and those who cared for him.

"There better be no next time, mate. I might not always be there in time to pull madmen off you." John sighed and made to sit down.

"Thank you, John. I really do, appreciate, your concern.."

John missed his chair and almost hit the floor just catching himself on the chair's arms.

"Now, really, you're just overdoing it!" Sherlock smirked at John who had found his seat. It took John a second longer to find his voice again to answer this of the few spoken appreciations he ever received from the man sitting in front of him.

"Yes, well.."

John thought to answer jokingly to lighten the mood, but, though Sherlock was smiling, seeing the anticipation, an expectance of forgiveness, the agitation in Sherlock's eyes, John decided better of it "..you're welcome, mate."

John smiled to reassure his friend, and the warmth in his voice and merriness in his eyes thawed them, the rooms of 221b filled with their laughter, the previous worry and weight of the past weeks gone from them. Sherlock really did appreciate John, just as he did Sherlock, and it was a mutual relief for one to hear it and the other to say it at times.

Their laughter was interrupted by a knocking on the door.

"Must be Mrs. Hudson, she said she'd bring up tea." John got up to open the door.

"Good old Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock murmured reaching for the remote, put the TV on and started fiddling his violin again.


	2. Chapter 2

-Chapter Two-

-Deep Red-

John got up to open the door for Mrs. Hudson.

"Good old Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock murmured reaching for the remote, he turned the TV on for John and Mrs. Hudson and started fiddling his violin again.

Sherlock felt relieved that John hadn't stayed angry with him for long. And though he hadn't been sure how to word his appreciation, he was glad John had seen his earnestness.

Mrs. Hudson has presumably brought up the tea as she promised.

Then why was John still standing at the door?

Was Mrs. Hudson bringing up a weeks worth of tea? Though a pan full would soothe the ache in his throat. Sherlock had thought the honey John had forced him to eat through out the train ride back to London would have made some progress, honey had antibacterial qualities.. He should probably unpack those bees he had collected from the Hayter's...

God, he needed a case. If the gunshot hadn't killed him the boredom now surely would. Sherlock focused on the TV, it had proven less than boring on occasion.

"God, what is it with these shows?"

Sherlock spat, mocking the program he had put on. Wasn't this that silly show Mrs. Hudson and John had nearly forced him to sit through before? Here was the title, ah, this is why he had deleted ever seeing it.

" 'Lady Eva, Queen of decoration.' Queen of plastic surgery I'd say, nicely sewn, you can hardly tell she has had her face done, twice, the nose three times."

"Well, the nose was done quite horrid the first time, the doctor left the other nostril a bit too big."

The sound of Lady Eva on TV commenting on the shows resident's purple drapes echoed statically in the flat.

John was used to seeing Sherlock looking surprised, mostly at people not being able to follow his thoughts, but this time was worth a few pictures and videos. That craning of his neck could not do well after the throttling, and John couldn't rule out some throttling happening again now.

John himself hadn't snapped out of his surprise when his heart dropped hearing Sherlock describe the nose jobs of the woman who was now standing in front of her. He was still holding the door open, he had done so for the past three minutes now, but he wasn't quite sure what was done after the door was opened for someone.

What do you do after that, again?

"Invite me in? The tea is getting cold, and these biscuits deserve to be eaten, they look lovely." Lady Eva stepped in past John, who, instead of stuttering his surprise, compromised in opening the door further and bowing her to step in, to the flat he was now very conscious of having all sorts of messes rendering the tables and sofa inaccessible.

"What a surprise, to see you here, Lady Eva!" Mrs. Hudson had bustled in after the very colourfully dressed TV personality "Me and John here watch your show every time, such fun tips for making a house feel like home, I used some of them when I refurnished the cellar flat." Mrs. Hudson chatted away warmly like this sort of visit happened all the time.

"I'm glad to hear it, and please, call me Eva." Lady Eva smiled brightly to all of them, still holding the tea tray and biscuits she had apparently offered to carry for Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh don't just stand there, John, take the tray from the young lady." Mrs. Hudson smiled at John and waved him to get on with it and turned to Sherlock "And you, I am not yet done with you, were still going to talk about that face of yours. Go on, John." Sherlock looked up at Mrs. Hudson, smirked and returned to staring down their guest. "Um yes, hello, Eva. John Watson." John tried his best to recover from the shock he was currently in, shaking hands with the person who was simultaneously on their TV screen and in front of them. Sherlock was still eyeing the situation, his face now in mild interest.

"What can we do for you?" John asked, shaking his head a bit working up a smile, and shooting evil eyes at Sherlock for letting his mouth run hills and mountains about the nose jobs.

"I came to meet Mr. Holmes on urgent business, I'm afraid the situation is so tricky, I didn't know who else to turn to." Sherlock bounced up and to Mrs. Hudson's and John's surprise, and relief, didn't start poking Lady Eva's nose to see if he was right about the three surgeries. Instead he extended his hand in greeting

"Sherlock Holmes. How may I assist you?"

* * *

Hair extensions, recently bleached. Fake tan, nose jobs, pretentious behaviour, fake smile to mach the tan. Agitated, clearly hiding something, quick breaths and hurried starts to her sentences, fidgeting with her shirt's edge, eyeing the room too quickly to take anything in, been on her guard for a while. Designer clothes, wrinkled, shoes are inexpensive and had a lot of wear, mascara put on sloppily, small specks of it on eyelids, contradicting to her usual level of maintenance, left from her home in a hurry. Chooses her words with deliberation, careful of her reputation then, but does not care about people knowing about her surgeries, what ever she needs help with must be of greater consequence and preferably kept quiet.

This might prove less than dull, Sherlock decided.

"Sherlock Holmes. How may I assist you?"

* * *

John knew Lady Eva's reputation well enough. She had been in the public eye for about a year, he remembered hearing and seeing her as a guest on TV host shows and radio shows. He had started watching her programme with Mrs. Hudson to pass the time, but came to enjoy the bubbly TV personality. The home making, as Mrs. Hudson had dubbed it, was not his cup of tea, but it was interesting how people's personalities could be reflected so minutely in décor, even Sherlock had bother to deduce some outcomes of the rooms by paying attention in the first few minutes to the guests' and the host's style, though he forgot ever having watched said few minutes the next time around.

But why Sherlock had not thrown her out now, he had no clue, though Sherlock often saw more than other people did at a first glance.

They were sitting down now, Sherlock in his chair with his eyes closed. Lady Eva seemed to doubt whether to speak, so John prompted her to begin.

"My name is Eva Brackwell, the Lady is just a title the producers thought would bring some chic and fun to my programme." No one commented on this, but John and Mrs. Hudson gave a polite nod of acknowledgment and mock interest. "I do not know if you've much heard of me or read of my personal life, but for three years now I have been going out with Earl Dovercourt, the owner of a major software development company. You have most definitely heard of him if you take interest in world markets and stock exchange or, in general, money." She definitely did, Sherlock thought, but kept this to himself, he kept his eyes closed but felt the swift reprimanding looks of her landlady and flatmate reading his thought process.

"For the past three months I have been engaged to marry Earl. The wedding day is a month and two days from now."

"Congratulations." Mrs. Hudson and John smiled, Sherlock merely kept his eyes closed.

How long was this going to take, get to the point already.

"Thank you. But I'm afraid I have not been able to much enjoy the role of bride to be... You see, the reason I came here has to do with the wedding. About a month ago, I received a letter. It contained some information that I can't relate to you, but-" "Then we are very much done here." Sherlock stood up and made to motion Lady Eva to take her leave. John felt his mouth gape from such an abrupt dismissal and Mrs. Hudson, he was sure, had just briefly face palmed.

"_What_? A-aren't you going to listen to the rest, what I need you to do for me? I can pay you very well, once I'm married of course. You will hardly need to know all the details, all you need to do is what I will commission you for!"

"I little care whether you have all the money to pay me, I am not interested in engaging in a case where all the data is not given to me. Without full information I am of very little use to you and wish to be of no use to you." Sherlock motioned his hand sweepingly to the door this time to underline his point. Lady Eva looked like she had never been denied anything in her life, and judging by her fisted hands she had the custom of showing people what might happen if she was denied. Mrs. Hudson shifted a bit uncomfortably towards John, the two now between the defiant and determined client and the calm and uninterested host. The comfortable atmosphere had taken quite an abrupt turn.

Lady Eva bit her lip and her calm and assertive manner deteriorated to vehement need to explain and get what she came here for.

"Fine, I, I'll tell you everything, but, you must promise, you must _swear_, none of the things I tell you will ever leave this room. I'll only speak to you, Mr. Holmes. I want these two out of here!"

John felt all his appreciation for the warm and bubbly TV persona drain away like the water in an unplugged sink as he was given the unexpected pleasure of viewing the perfectly manicured fingernail now pointing at him and Mrs. Hudson just a few inches from their faces.

"Well, I never thought you were such a puffed up diva." Mrs. Hudson stated with matter of fact disapproving tone. Lady Eva looked taken aback.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me, Sherlock, and I'm still going to want to know about that" She patted her own cheek to gesture the bandage on Sherlock's face.

Mrs. Hudson got up and left the room, John made to follow her swiftly, if not for the 'puffed up diva's' wishes, but if he had to hold from laughing any longer he thought he might puff.

"No, John stays." Sherlock wasn't in the mood to take notes, this so called lady was proving to be mildly entertaining, but not yet worth fully to pull Sherlock from the obvious conclusion that this was going to be another one of those cases that proved to be too easy, too boring, unless his previous intrigue proved to be right after all.

John held at the door, and returned to his seat at the table after Lady Eva had nodded her approval, Sherlock clearly hadn't given her much choice.

"Now, continue with all the facts or take your leave." Sherlock closed his eyes again, and listened as Lady Eva continued. If he wasn't going to get all the facts in the next five, no, three minutes, she was leaving. John sat with his arms tight against his chest, deciding that they were going to overcharge her, Mrs. Hudson needed a new set of kitchen wear, for all her flats.

Lady Eva continued, a slight desperation colouring the calm she was still holding on to "As I said, I received a letter a month ago. I do not know who sent me the letter, it was hand delivered because there was no postal markings on it, only my name. The letter contained a, a picture, of delicate nature to me, and a note."

Ah. Blackmail?

John had thought maybe the letter had been a threat against her safety, some crazed fan committing to bomb Lady Eva's and Dovercourt's wedding. Blackmail wasn't exactly a situation John had pictured her in, her reputation had been kept so squeaky clean. Sherlock interrupted her with haste as if he had already heard everything she had said before.

"Yes yes, obviously. Do you have the letter with you, would be much quicker if I just read it myself instead of this cryptic droning you seem to falsely think will divert from the facts you will have to disclose eventually." Sherlock clearly had his bad mood on. If this had been some other client John would have flicked Sherlock on the forehead for his blatant rudeness, but since she proved out to be worse in John's book, he let this one pass.

" I do not have it with me, I hadn't planned on letting you know all the details."

John felt Sherlock staring angrily and clearly internally screaming insults at the woman's flawed logic.

"Fine then, what was the colour of the envelope?" This question seemed to puzzle Lady Eva slightly, even John had to admit he didn't see what the colour had to do with anything. Millions of people could be using the same envelope this blackmailer had.

"Red, deep red, the note was also red." Sherlock's eyes gleamed at the answer.

"The letter must have contained some statement of blackmail, how much did they want for the pictures and what were the pictures of? Lover, lovers, embezzlement, drug use, hit and run?"

"How dare you!"

"Clearly the letter is of delicate nature, it was hand delivered to you so it could not be traced to any certain area. Your insistence of speaking only to me and to keep this conversations strictly confidential means the contents of the letter are to you very delicate indeed. Since you have mentioned your engagement I assume it would harm your chances of marrying your fiancé, possibly terminate your whole relationship, also tarnish your career." Sherlock ran the facts ignoring the protests and affronted expression on Lady Eva's face, her features fell to a mixture of shame and defiance.

"I will need to know the exact contents of that letter."

Lady Eva held still for a moment.

"The picture was of me with a man, other, than my fiancé. The picture is from when I had started dating Earl."

John felt a slight tinge of awkwardness about hearing such a delicate and shocking discovery, Sherlock was seemingly unmoved.

"We never saw each other in public and we came from totally different circles. We met at a bar and things went from there…I was sure no one knew about us."

"What about the note?" John prompted, but he felt increasingly puzzled as to what exactly she wanted Sherlock to do for her.

"The note stated that unless I paid them the sum of 5 million pounds, they would make this picture along with ten others they have public. If I went to the police they'd send copies of the photos to my fiancé, and all the papers in the country. They assured me in the note that if I met their demands they would give me the negatives and all existing copies and their assurance that all evidence of correspondence on their behalf would be destroyed."

"I would not advise you to be thrift. Surely you have the means to pay, that would solve your problem quickly."

"That is why I am here, seeking your help. I have no such money to pay, I'm new to the business, my wealth is only 2 million after taxes and work expenses!"

Only? If the context had been any different for her statement John might have felt like laughing, except the context wasn't so very funny.

The idea of blackmail, even though Lady Eva had clearly proven herself to be less than an agreeable person, the situation still made John feel angry for her. Maybe she wasn't so bad, that the prospect of losing her fiancé and public disgrace had just driven her to the edge, not that that was really an excuse for her behaviour, but it was an explanation.

"You spoke of correspondence, what means of contact have they given you, can you not negotiate the price?"

"The letter contained a phone number, I called but they wouldn't answer, so I sent a message informing them I haven't such a sum to pay and would offer my 2 million, they answered but they were adamant in the price of 5 million! I've sent them messages pleading and begging, but two days ago the messages would no longer go through!"

" A disposable phone and prepaid connection then." Sherlock lowered his voice and spoke in earnest seriousness.

"What is it that you need me to do, me negotiating on your behalf seems pointless because you yourself have not succeeded in changing their minds and the quickest means of contact has been terminated."

John faltered in his own harsh attitude when he saw Lady Eva begin to tear up at the facts that had been hanging over them the entire time. Was the impossibility of her situation all that could be established here today?

"Please, please, I need you, Mr. Holmes, to get these pictures for me. I do not know who this person is, but, I'm sure you can find out who they are! I was told that you could find anyone anywhere with very little to go on! I do not have the money to pay them and this would destroy me! Destroy poor Earl's heart! I'm not that person in those pictures, not anymore, and I can't simply watch as my life is stripped away from me!"

"Riveting." Sherlock weighed the case in his mind, John thought it to be quite an impossible matter. How could she suppose even Sherlock to be able to find anyone without any concrete clue? Sherlock seemed to fill in John's pondering, for he gave Lady Eva his answer.

"It is not an impossible task, but I will need that letter, without it I have nearly nothing to go on except the method's of this blackmailer or blackmailers which you have insufficiently presented to me. Bring me the letter today as soon as possible, when I have found out all I can I will see what I can do."

The relief on Lady Eva's face was so pronounced, John could hardly believe she was the same person who had just violently argued and bossed them around a few moments ago.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! Yes, Of course, it was foolish of me not to bring the letter in the first place. I don't know what I was thinking.." Sherlock felt best not to answer 'you weren't ', in case she might start crying again. Lady Eva stood up, John made to show her out but she had already rushed to the door.

"I'll be back with the letter within the hour!"

She rushed out, glancing gratefully behind her at the detective who had already fallen back to reveries as if she had never been there.


	3. Chapter 3

-Chapter Three-

-C.A.M.-

Eva walked down Bakerstreet, she had rushed out of the building and practically was running now to wave down a taxi.  
The famous detective wasn't so charming as he had appeared in pictures that had been shown to her, but Eva had learned a long time ago that looks were deceiving. At least he seemed determined, he had talked her down and resisted her well enough. And he had agreed to help her. Eva tripped slightly when she ran.  
Damn these shoes, the soles were practically falling off, she should have thrown the bloody things out already. Okay, calm down, this wasn't the time to trip up and crack your head.

Those pictures, those blasted pictures! Why had she gone to a motel, anyone could sneak behind your window, and somebody had done exactly that, taken the damning evidence of that stupid mindless mistake! She had to get the pictures back, and when she would, she will, definitely, when she _will_ marry Earl, the payment for this Mr. Holmes should suffice as large enough to keep the residents of 221B's mouths shut.

She didn't want to lose Earl.

Eva entered the taxi she had waved over and made a phone call.

"Hello"

"It's Eva. I just left Bakerstreet."

"Did he take your case?"

"Yes, he did!"

Eva glanced around nervously and lowered her voice, the taxi driver took glances at her, probably recognized her, not a moment of anonymity. Eva's stomach took a turn thinking of the pictures in the hands of the press, how they would be seen by everyone, would be seen by Earl…

"Eva?"

"Ah, yeah, I'm still here..I have to bring him the letter though, he insisted."

"Don't worry, he'll be discreet. Otherwise few high profile cases would go to him."

"I'm sure you're right." Eva took a steadying breath. This nightmare would surely be over soon. Eva rubbed her forehead, her head hurt.

"I'm so grateful you told me about him. If he can't help me, then no one can."

"Don't worry about it, what are friends for. I'll see you later, alright? It will all be okay soon enough."

Eva couldn't help but smile at this reassurance, she would be saved by the famous sleuth and all her dreams would finally become a reality.

* * *

Sherlock and John sat in silence, listening to the hurrying footsteps decend the staircase,  
a few seconds later the front door opened and closed after their guest.

Like a signal the bang of the door sent Sherlock off, he rushed to his room, leaving John wondering what was going through Sherlock's mind  
for having accepted such a seemingly impossible case.

"Sherlock?" John spoke loudly for him to hear.

"Hm?"  
There was clattering and a sound of boxes being shuffled and opened.

"You know, the letter probably doesn't have fingerprints on it."

"Likely not."

"Then why give her false hope of finding this blackmailer? I mean, she isn't such a sweet person, but if you did that just to pay back for Mrs. Hudson.."  
John was pouring himself the tea Mrs. Hudson had made for them before the unexpected visitor. Waste not.

Sherlock walked back to the living room carrying a cardboard box labelled E,B.M., R.L. 2009.

"I think Mrs. Hudson herself gave back as admirably as she was given. No, I am certain I have information on the person who is behind Ms. Brackwell's blackmail."

What?  
John cussed when some of the tea spilled to the floor and table from his loss of concentration  
"What, seriously. Why do you have information- why didn't you tell Eva this?"

John turned and looked as Sherlock was digging through some files, discarding the one's that he wasn't looking for on the floor.

"I thought it best not to tell her, one reason being I am not yet one hundred percent sure it is the same person behind her case, I need to see her letter first. As to why I have said information, this isn't the first time I've been commissioned to handle blackmail and extortion, as you know." Sherlock pointed out and John nodded knowingly.

"Private persons, Lestrade, Mycroft, all have brought such cases to me. Most were crudely orchestrated, easily caught, no challenge. " Sherlock announced this airily, but John noticed his tone change to slight irritation as he continued.

"But one offender, _one_, has eluded me, simply because they leave no proof that a court of law would take into consideration." Sherlock seemed to have found the file he had been looking for, for he had stopped cluttering the floor and was studying the papers inside the file.

"That person used to send his victims peculiar letters, similar to what Brackwell described her letter to be like."

So that's why he agreed to listen to her. John wondered if Sherlock would have bothered otherwise.

"When she brings me the letter I'll be able to verify my suspicion I had the moment she began her droning. It's description fits with the letters I have here." Sherlock waved the file in his hands and opened it.

"All these letters are similar, from the same hand and same wording, same paper and envelope brand, only the sums differ. This is a very arrogant man" takes one to know one, John decided lightly under his breath, getting up to sit at his own chair that had been occupied with their guest. "to be so certain of his intangibility to never change his instruments of crime. That flaw will inevitably lead me to bring him down."

"How do you know it's a 'him'?" John asked, taking the letters Sherlock was now handing over to him.  
They were all the same deep red colour.

"The style of the handwriting suggests male. The wording itself does not give away their gender, but suggests higher education and some ethics, though lacking since he has found excuse to go forward with his schemes of blackmail. I narrowed down a list of suspects from the minuscule data I was able to collect from the previous cases."

"Is that how you got a hold of these letters, _all_ these people were your clients?"

"Ten of these were left to me by my previous clients, in 2009, the rest of the letters I have since tracked down and acquired with strict confidentiality."

"So, all these people.."

"There are eleven magazines in the box that exhibit the public exposure of those who either could not pay or refused to pay."

There were about fifty letters in John's hands.

John's throat felt dry from the sheer surge of anger the letters made him feel.  
Remembering he had a cup in his hand, he sipped his tea and began scanning through some of the letters.

"They are all very similar" John began reading one of the letters out loud

" 'Your conduct has come to my attention and I have taken leave to record your misgivings.  
Here is a sample of what the world will share of the information now between yourself , your little partners in crime and your's truly.  
The price of the negatives and further copies of these documents is 6 million British pounds. If the sum is not paid to the, I assure you,  
untraceable bank account in the postscript by the end of the deadline I courteously provide, all the publications of our merry land shall have something to fill their contents quota with. I hope to stress enough that if my demands are not met I will make you an example to all those who refuse to cooperate with me in the future and at the present moment. Keep an eye on the publications and you might just see someone else becoming an example, which will give you further cause to follow the advise I bid you to lead.  
I leave with you a warning not to go to the police, for such a transgression will result in my direct publication of all I hold upon you.  
I dearly wish for you to take my good advice. Further contact, if you wish to negotiate method of payment, is possible through the number which I give you in the postscript.' "

John felt the bile of anger rise to his throat, this person, who ever they were, was scum.

"This, is messed up."

"Yes, I agree."

"You do?"

Sherlock didn't show any notice to the pleasant surprise in John's voice, for he continued in a matter of fact tone, his concentration half on the documents he was scanning through.

"Yes, I wouldn't much care for my old misgivings to be publicised so savagely for all the public to gobble up as entertainment. This much I do understand, it is only logical to want to bury the past and move on from it, wiser than before."

John instinctively glanced at Sherlock's arms, imagining the forearms bruised and full of microscopic punctures from what Sherlock now referred to as his former recreational hobby that had gone awry.

"None of us would like to be exposed like that for all the world to judge, especially if we've made amends and wish to just move on better from those mistakes."  
John concluded. He had always felt the drug use was a delicate thing to discuss and never pushed Sherlock on the subject, though, Sherlock might have as easily meant his cases that he hadn't been able to solve, John didn't want to press the matter. John was just glad that Sherlock seemed to have some sympathy for these people and the situations they had faced, on the other hand John was sure Sherlock would have let the blackmailer publish what ever he had on Sherlock, just to spite them and show the world he didn't care for their opinions.

"Yes…not that people should put much stake on those idiot's opinions."

John's mouth twitched with a small smile, at times the detective was delightfully predictable.

"Now this letter here" Sherlock whipped out of the pile the last letter in John's hands and tapped at the end of the letter, on the initials of C.A.M. "this is the last letter I know of him having sent, it was the most definitive lead that had brought me to possible suspects. All the other letters just have the same exact wording slightly modified to fit each person's transgression, but in this one, he wrote down initials as well!"

John managed from his astonishment to frown slightly at the rising excitement Sherlock was starting to build up. Mrs. Hudson would have given Sherlock a lecture on impropriety.

"But that makes no sense, why would he write his initials there? And how do you know they're his initials, it might just be a, I don't know, a 'villain name' they've taken on, a sort of penname."

Sherlock gave John a face of 'isn't it obvious' while John just answered with a raise of his eyebrows to prompt Sherlock to prove him wrong.

"No of course it isn't just a penname, no, it must be more than just a penname, see, all the others are missing them. This means he relied on the word of mouth warnings that would circulate around the community in which the people he targeted are. The mysterious red envelope, red writing paper, cursive writ, most people tend to go towards less doom impending colour schemes while choosing their stationeries. . Also here" Sherlock pulled out the envelopes "you see on the envelopes who they were addressed to, they're all famous people, actors, actresses, media personalities, socialites, all sorts of public media figures who run in the same circles."

"So, what does that have to do with the penname?"

"Really, John, try to follow me a little! This person is for theatricalities, like I said, the colour of the paper, the wording, yadda, yadda, _IF_ he had chosen a penname, he'd have chosen something a bit clearer and more dramatic than C.A.M." John yielded at this, but decided to save his praises for never, just because Sherlock kept thinking people could run their minds as fast as he did. Sherlock pressed on.

"The _initials_ were for someone who must have known who their blackmailer was, so they'd know where their downfall would come. This one case must have been very personal and there could have been no chance of retaliation, for him to have so boldly added his initials. But, I cannot be sure without all the facts."

"You can deduce a cruel mind, but that doesn't mean their logic was logical."

"How philosophical of you, John."

"Well I need to have my moments too."

John placed the envelopes back into the file, glad to put them out of reach.

They sat in silence again for a while, John finished his tea, Sherlock brooded over the papers he had been reading through. John waited paitently for Sherlock to finish telling him all the details of the case, and Sherlock began again, deliberating and putting weight into his words, John noted they were surprisingly judgemental.

"There is a game in this world that fuels itself on unscrupulous gain to be made from selling secrets, and this man, in Great Britain at least, was and is at the highest level of this game. All information went to him first if not the press, because he paid the heftiest price to gain the information. He knows his victims to a degree for they share the same circles. a wolf among the sheep, because he knows where to send his people to get his levers or where to buy his levers from."

"You said you had suspects, but it sounds like you've made up your mind on one person in particular."

This seemed to tighten Sherlock's strings. He jumped up to his feet after drumming the arms of his chair like a drumming solo before the doom pending strings and he began ranting out the frustration gathered up over the years he had been involved in the case of these red letters.

"I have several suspects only because this C.A.M has left nothing that can be concretely traced back to him, there is no material evidence! There is no saliva, no fingerprints, nothing in the letters, he most probably handles them with gloves and wears a mask! The initials alone won't do because I found more than one person to fit the profile of the suspect! I can't get a warrant to search their homes on such small grounds. I checked through Mycroft all the cctv footage at the victims area to see who had delivered the letter, none of them could be identified further than gender and hight, they knew to cover up their features and disappear in the crowds.  
All those people who sold these secrets haven't met C.A.M. personally. And then C.A.M. had abruptly stopped mailing the letters, nothing was heard of him, thus there was no more evidence to be had, I could do nothing! It was so damn easy for him to keep playing this game and never get caught!"

Sherlock whirled his hands in exasperation, and then he stopped mid rage, with a gathered resolution of a plan he had been denied to act out until now.

"I haven't handed C.A.M. bow tied to Lestrade for safe keeping so far, because I haven't had a chance or reason to act upon my knowledge. For about four years he has been inactive from his pass-time. If I had acted I'd simply have found a crow in it's nest, but no eggs, and definitely no stolen silver. Now that I know for sure he is still in the game, now that there is something he is working on, I know I will get him!"

John was almost amazed at how affected Sherlock was. John knew Sherlock was a sore loser, the stabbed Cluedo board on their wall was a good small reminder of that. But this loss, as Sherlock seemed to take it, had been festering unsolved for years. Now, John felt the thrill, determination, a vindictive air radiate from Sherlock, until the man rounded back to his seat opposite John and took the papers he had dropped onto his chair. John was starting to feel the rush of a chase run through his own veins. Sherlock placed the papers he had in his hands on the floor facing John so he could read them, picked up his bow and pointed lightly at each paper.

"These are the suspects, all of their initials are C.A.M. and they all work in the entertainment industry"

And then, as if wielding a sword, Sherlock stabbed violently the paper which held a picture of a middle aged man, with deep set eyes and a crooked smile aimed at something they couldn't see in the picture.

"and this man here is who's plans I will soon foil. I would bet a week-end trip with my brother that he is the man who is behind all this."

"Must be your man then for you to bet so high."

John leaned forward to read the paper better. " 'Agent, producer, founder and owner of Lotus Stars entertainment company,

Charles Augustus Milverton. ' "


End file.
